The Wanderer
by Sir Loin The First
Summary: This Universe is a dangerous one. Assassins and murderers are ready to tear you apart at a moment’s notice. But after the Great Cataclysm…? The Toa of old are dead, leaving inexperienced ones in their stead… and new heroes to ascend to the pantheon.
1. Prologue

**The Wanderer**

**This Universe is a dangerous one. Assassins and murderers are ready to tear you apart at a moment's notice. However, at least the Toa were able to uphold Order. But after the Great Cataclysm…? The Toa of old are dead, leaving only newer, inexperienced ones in their stead… and new ones to ascend to the pantheon. **

This warrior sighed in the rain. He had no purpose now. He had forgotten it… all those years ago. He remembered that he was a warrior, upholding the will of the Great Spirit… but that was then, and this is now.

Then, he had strove to uphold the Will of Mata Nui, ergo, he had strove to uphold Unity, Duty, and… Destiny. Now, he could hardly say that he stood for these Virtues, could he?

Then, he fought, not to kill, not to destroy, but to protect. Now, he could hardly say that he was the protector, could he?

Then, he was what they could call a hero, winning the admiration and respect of all. Now, he was what they called a monster. He no longer bore the armor of a hero, but instead, he wore the armor of a murderer.

Enough psychoanalysis. The world went by, with or without his contemplation of his current state. Besides, he had a job to do. Touching a hand to his rusted Hau, he stood up, scanning the horizon of Xia. He shouldn't stay in the rain too long… it was most likely acidic from all that smog and stuff. But on the plus side, the clouds somewhat darkened the entire island, making him not stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe he'd stick out like a Toa on Xia… but that was beside the point. He took his old, tattered cloak, and flung it over his head. There! So much more inconspicuous!

Nodding in satisfaction, he continued down the street, towards his target. He didn't bother remembering her name. Names made it personal. He preferred it when they were the faceless inimical targets that his employers had made them out to be. What she did, however, was important. She was one of the big weapon manufacturers on this island. That certainly said a lot, considering that this was Xia. The problem was that her weapons were used blow things up. Namely, various settlements.

He continued forward towards the large building that was her headquarters. Publicity was a terrible thing… you were contractually obliged to hire receptionists, incompetent guards, all of those things that came with a corporation. He walked into the building, and strode up to the male Vortixx receptionist. The Vortixx looked up, startled. "Name and date of appointment?"

"Dorian. Business meeting. With the chairwoman," the assassin said, using one of his aliases.

The Vortixx glanced through his register, nodding. "Ah, you are the Dorian scheduled to meet with Chairwoman Deraka in five minutes. However, she is running late, so you will have to meet with her representative, Denare."

Oh, this wouldn't do at all. He wasn't sent to find a lackey. He knew that resistance would get him attacked by her private army (what weapons dealer didn't keep one hidden in the basement or something?)… And that would complicate his job immensely. So he nodded, and began to walk down the hall, when the Vortixx coughed, and pointed towards a sign saying 'LEAVE ALL PERSONAL ARMS HERE.'

'Dorian' grunted in annoyance. Again, it would not be good for him to combat the private army of incompetence, so he did so, leaving his large claymore on the table. "I expect it back… un-tampered."

The Vortixx took the blade rather carelessly, stowing it under the desk. 'Dorian' winced as the blade clattered against the material, but shoved the thought from his mind.

He continued down the hall, towards the room where he was expected to go to. However, he quickly swerved away, heading for the stair steps. Quite obviously, the chairwoman would be dealing with others at the top. The reason was because nobody in this corporation was allowed on the top floor. Unless they wished a very painful death involving decapitation and the like. That thought in mind, he palmed the elevator button, stepped in, and pressed the button for the highest floor possible.

The elevator smoothly moved up for a few minutes—and then came to an abrupt halt. 'Dorian' cursed vehemently, as he immediately moved around. It could NOT be coincidence that the elevator somehow broke down the day he arrived. He checked the number that he had absentmindedly pressed. 47. Well blast then! There were 47 levels to this building, and if the contractor was stupid enough to add the last one, then she was smart enough to rig an alarm.

Nope. No luck. There was no way out, meaning that he'd have to wait until they came for him, and then wait as they proceeded with the traditional bone-breaking. Well, he was NOT one to wait around. His hands briefly glowed, and then discharged their energy, sending hot plasma at the ceiling, slagging it. That being done, he jumped up, climbing onto the roof of the elevator, and looked up. Good thing that it utilized pulleys, rather than the new gravity generators that other institutions had begun to use. He grabbed one of the ropes, held it tight, and then snapped it with another burst of plasma. The rope, no longer attached to the elevator, began pulling him upwards.

Another design flaw. One that he fully intended to exploit. The elevator crashed down into the floor, and he flew to the topmost level, effectively ending his journey.

A swing, and then another, and he slammed straight into the elevator doors, slagging them as well. Plasma was so… useful.

He glanced at the floor number. Forty-seven. He walked down the hall… again. Sadly for him, guards also patrolled these floors, as he soon found out, when a Steltian behind him exclaimed something intelligible and fired a cordak missile at him. 'Dorian' was forced to roll aside, having heard the roar, but grunted as the shrapnel from the weapon slashed at his side, but an enemy was revealed to him. Fortunately, this one was of Krekka's species. Meaning that he was about as dumb as a rock, and looked as good, too. He ran around a corner, and waited, looking back. Nobody was flanking him. True to tradition, the guard ran straight into him, and received a faceful of plasma for his troubles. He bent down to pick the guard's cordak blaster. It was loud, and ugly, but there was little point in debating the aesthetics, considering that there was little point in trying to remain quiet. He hefted the gargantuan weapon, and continued down the hallway.

The second guard came, shouldering his zamor sphere launcher. A single round blew him apart, sending his limbs spattering against the wall.

Smirk again. Four rounds left, one large door to go. And the only thing standing in his way was… some random number of guards. He guessed that he needed at least four to punch through the door, so that left him no more free rounds. Which was tough, since two Vortixx guards flanked the door. Not just any two, but two who bore multitudes of scars, and were certainly veterans in the game of combat, considering that they simply waited for him, rather than brainlessly advancing on him by themselves. The both of knew that, and they certainly had the advantage in weaponry. How could they not, with their wicked looking staffs that crackled with shadow energy?

He slung his 'borrowed' cordak blaster over his shoulder, and spread out his hands, clearly saying: _let's do this, punks._

The two guards obliged, advancing on the unarmed assassin. The first to attack jumped forward, swinging his staff with quick, deft movements, forcing his enemy back, while the other stayed away, slowly, but surely moving into an ideal flanking position. Of course, the other didn't notice this; as he was too busy trying to dodge the staff swipes, which he barely managed to do. This guy was good. Thrust, thrust, sweep! Thrust, thrust, and sweep… again? This one was fast, but, unfortunately for him, he was predictable. He dodged the same strikes… again, so, this time, he retaliated with a swift punch that sent him reeling, and allowed the assassin a brief respite. He stepped back… into the waiting arms of the second, who grabbed his arms, shouting, "C'mon, Jarek! Finish 'im!"

The second guard, having recovered from the blow, obliged, twisting the staff, and jerked it forward, intending to run his opponent through—but instead getting his ally, who was twisted into position by the struggling assassin. He slid down limply, a look of shock in his eyes.

The other Vortixx withdrew his staff, the blood of his comrade still staining it. If he was perturbed by this, he didn't show it, as he continued his relentless assault, switching his tactics. He would have torn his opponent by now, had he not appropriated a staff for himself. He parried the blows, the two of them matching each other, blow for blow, until he quickly finished the Vortixx off with an uppercut. That dealt with, he raised his cordak blaster, and emptied it. The four red missiles streaked into the door tearing it apart. Apparently, four was overkill… meaning that he had fought for little reason! Aside from limbering up, that is.

He kept the staff, and strode through the opening, where his target sat, apparently paralyzed with fright. Behind her were several screens, each of them different. One of them had numbers, another was a video showing random soldiers shooting at others… the list was rather extensive.

"Who… who are you?" his target managed to stammer out. Seeing that her antagonist didn't move to strike her down immediately, she grew a little bolder. "Reveal yourself!"

The mercenary chuckled at her boldness. Usually, most would be screaming or have had an embarrassing accident by now. But the point was rather moot. "My employers send their regards." He raised his staff, and brought it down on his target, not caring fro whatever screams she may have, whatever pleas she may utter. And it was over. Like that. She was dead, and his employers were happy.

Now, all he needed was a way to get his blade back, get down, and all that jazz. He immediately went forward, searching for an intercom or a computer. There we go. He found her computer... still logged in. A quick composition, and that odious receptionist would be out of the way.

* * *

The Vortixx was still minding his own business (never mind the crashes or whatever that had occurred), when a giant pop-up appeared. It simply read: "YOU'RE FIRED." He sat still for a while, until angrily, he stormed out of the building.

* * *

Meanwhile, the assassin had taken the chairwoman's own express elevator down... and managed to see the Vortixx leave angrily. "Hey, where's my blade?" he asked.

The Vortixx pointed an irate finger backwards, before walking out. He had heard that perhaps the mines needed a bureaucrat.

The other smiled, as he walked over to the desk, collecting his weapon. He loved it.


	2. Another Day, Another Job

**The Wanderer**

**Another day, another job**

The assassin sighed, satisfied. He had performed a run-of-the-mill job, got paid, and was currently resting in his domicile in the 'gentle' side of Stelt, if such a thing was possible. Stelt was Karzahni's backyard, considering the level of anarchy that the island possessed, second only to Zakaz. Of course, this anarchy made it easy for one to stay hidden, as nobody bothered to remember faces or names here. He was about to check on the repercussions of his previous assassination, when his COM-pad rang. Another job, so quickly?

He answered the query, asking, "Yes?"

The other simply said, "Danekar. Meet me at the pub down the corner." His agent was probably one of the few people who actually knew his name.

Looks like the news would have to wait. Slinging his claymore over his back, Danekar left the relative safety of his domicile, and strode in the crowd, where he easily blended in with a variety of equally shady figures. His target? The _Raging Rakhshi, _one of the better known places here. Even though it didn't look like much from the outside—more like a rundown shack—on the inside, anything could happen. That included, but wasn't limited to, brawls, gambling, stealing, or drinking. Overall, one of the rowdiest places here. He slipped in, ignored the twin bouncers' glares, and slid onto the bar stool. He ordered a small drink, and waited. This was the usual place where his agent would meet him… and soon enough, he came. The agent was a rather small person, but he was able to procure decent enough jobs for his employer… taking quite a hefty sum in the process. Sometimes, the assassin had to wonder who worked for whom, and usually arrived at the conclusion that it was a symbiotic relationship at best.

"So, what now?" The assassin asked, the general hubbub drowning his voice out. Apparently, they were watching a pair of Ussal crabs tear each other apart.

"This." The agent pushed forward a file, allowing the other to peruse them, which he did. There were several pictures, but all of them were of the same three people. A demented looking Zyglak. A burly Skakdi. A lithe Vortixx. All of the photographs were of these three people, in different locations, doing different things… usually separate.

Danekar raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"We want you to find them."

"You know my rules. What did they do? I don't take out penny-ante mercenaries." Danekar put the folder down. This was true. He never killed a person just to settle the old grudges of someone else.

"You misunderstand me. We want you to _find _them. That's it. And then persuade them to work with you."

Danekar was rather… surprised by this, to say the least. Should he not have the freedom to decide who he worked with? Before he could voice any objections, the contact continued. "Yes, yes, I know. They do have their own unique talents. Take him, for example." He pointed at the Zyglak. "Canderak here is a very proficient tracker. I suppose that's what you get when you've got a beast with an incredible nose. Not to mention that he fights as if Karzahni himself were facing him. Garthan, the Skakdi, aside from being brutally strong, is quite an excellent weapons master. Especially explosives, rifles, all that jazz. Teriaka may not look like much, but she is skilled at infiltration, exfiltration, spying, recording… everything!"

Danekar waited, as if there was anything else to say. When it became apparent that there wasn't, he said only one word. "So?"

"So what?"

"So? Why would I need the Zyglak? I'll just get an energy hound. Why would I need the Skakdi? Explosives just aren't my style. And I am pretty sure that I am good enough at remaining hidden." Danekar pointed out. He just liked working alone. He took a draught from the drink that the bartender had served him.

"…And if you work with them, you'll have a much higher chance of survival. Your mission takes place in the far West."

Danekar, who had a mouthful of the drink at the time, spat everything out. "The West? There's nothing there. Except ruins, ruins, and some more ruins. Nobody to find. Only Rahi."

The contact shrugged. "Hey, I don't know. All I know is that our bosses want you to go there for some reason, because there have been some activity going on in there. Bad activity. Makuta bad. And they won't give you the information needed unless you take them with you."

This was enough to hook Danekar in. "When do we start?"

The agent waved a hand. "Later. Did I mention the last catch? You'll have to bring a Toa along with you."

"Why? What did he do?"

"Oh, he defeated a Makuta, for starters."

"Oh, come on. Any six Toa can pull that trick. Personally, I don't get why I have to babysit a fledgling Toa, a Vortixx, a Skakdi, and a Zyglak," Danekar snorted. The first part was true. After the Great Cataclysm, the Toa of old were killed, hunted down by Dark Hunters or Brotherhood troops. Only young and inexperienced ones were left.

"You make it sound like I know. All they said was that the Toa was mandatory, and the other three highly recommended."

"Fine, fine," Danekar sighed. "Might as well take all four of them… if only to use them as cannon fodder."

"Riiight," the agent remarked sarcastically. "Here's the Toa's picture." He slid another photo forward, allowing the assassin to look it over. "His name is Vakama."

* * *

The Vortixx's skiff arrived on Stelt. She wasn't entirely sure why she decided to come here, of all places. Stelt was just… anarchy. Not to mention that it certainly smelled terrible too. And the neighborhood that she was to meet her new employer was one of the worst. But hey, money was money, and she was being offered five figures for this. She reasoned that she could retire for a few years with that kind of money. Paying the captain of the boat, she left the skiff, and hurried down the streets, making her way to the address, where she was confronted with an odd sight. A black and blue Zyglak with green, jagged stripes looked her over, seeing her bewildered expression, and looked away. The other face was certainly more familiar. "Garthan?"

The red Skakdi looked at her in surprise, before dropping both of his cordak blasters to step forward and embrace her in a bone-crushing hug. "Teri! 'Ow 'ave ya been?"

The Vortixx grimaced in the bear-like crush. He insisted on it, and she usually let him. But it certainly hurt. Almost as much as the asinine nickname that he had assigned her. "Fine. Still slaving away for the Dark Hunters, then?"

The Skakdi let go of her, a wounded expression on his face. "We prefer the term workin'. Still sneakin' aroun', then?"

"When have I never done so?"

Garthan laughed. "Well, true." His expression became serious. "Ya know why we are here, then?"

Teriaka replied with a puzzled look. "No. I was hoping that you could enlighten me."

"I can't. I just got a letter offerin' me a few hundred thousan', so I came."

"But _I _can enlighten you." Danekar strode in from behind another door, his claymore slung over his back. "We just have to capture Toa."

"That's it? Just a Toa?" Teriaka asked. There had to be a catch.

"Yup. This Toa resides in Metru Nui, so it should be a tough shell to crack. You'll have to sign this though." Danekar presented several contracts, filled with complicated words and the like. Garthan immediately took the Toa's pen and scribbled in his name. Teriaka sighed in annoyance. She'd have to go along, if only to make sure Garthan didn't end up blowing himself up, so she signed it as well. The Zyglak read the contract, raising his eyebrows. Then he disdainfully scratched in an X.

"Perfect. We will have to travel to Metru Nui, because I'll be accompanying you. Now, seeing as I don't know your names, you'll be Sam, Zack, and Vicky," Danekar said, pointing at the Skakdi, Vortixx, and Zyglak respectively, as he collected the binding contracts.

"…Why?" The Zyglak asked sourly.

"Because, Zack, names are for friends or enemies. And I'm certainly not up for either of them."

Garthan raised a hand, and Danekar talked to him. "Yes, Sam?"

"Does that make you Tom? 'Cause, y'see, the Zyglak is Zack, the Vortixx is Vicky, and the Skakdi is Sam, so…" the Skakdi asked rather timidly.

"No, it does not. You can call me Sir, Boss, or Master."

Teriaka intruded in rather indignantly. "Hey, I do have a name! And I _insist _that you address me by that name."

"Why's that, Vicky?" Danekar asked. This was going _so_ well.

"Don't call me Vicky."

"Whatever you say, Vicky."

The name Vicky almost made 'Teri' bearable. But Garthan was somewhat of a friend, albeit a stupid one, and this Toa certainly wasn't. And she didn't have to take this abuse. Especially for however long she'd have to stay with him. She beckoned to Garthan. "Come on, Garthan. We're out of here. He can stuff his money." She began to walk to the door, when Danekar waggled his finger.

"I'm afraid you can't do that." He showed her the contract. "If you had taken the time to read it, you'll know that you will have work for me… unless you want your reputation to be crashed forever. And no, you can't tear it apart. It's laminated."

"What?" Teriaka exclaimed furiously. She took the contract and read it over. Yes, it specifically said that. If she walked out now, then it would be shipped to every single one of her employers, who would deem her untrustworthy. She was backed in a corner. She groaned, frustrated, and sat down. Garthan looked at her sympathetically, and patted her on the back.

The Zyglak put forward his query. "When do we leave?"

Danekar nodded appreciatively. "Now."

* * *

The Toa of Fire nervously walked through the forges of Ta-Metru. Meet Vakama. Former mask-maker, Toa, and artist. He quickly looked at the figurine that he had made. It was a mess. One of the arms was longer than the other, the proportions were all off, and it was pretty darn ugly. The only thing that seemed right was the mask. Perfectly made, without even a single scratch or minute imperfection on it, the mask seemed to glow with an inner fire. That came of devoting all of his life to being a mask-maker; perfectly fine at forging Kanohi and using Kanoka disks, woefully inadequate at everything else. Right, well, he'll let Takua judge that. The matoran had an eye for art, having traveled to other Metrus.

He made his way to the odd matoran's kiosk. Takua looked at Vakama, a slight grin on his blue Pakari (why was it blue? Vakama never knew the answer). "Well, Toa Vakama? What have you got for me t' look at?"

Vakama presented the figurine, and Takua guffawed at the sight. "Vakama, Vakama, where _did _you get that? The proportions are just off!"

"I know," Vakama replied gloomily. That hit the head of the nail of the coffin. "Jaller told me."

Takua continued. "That thing looks like it was made by an amateur at the art! The mask is the one saving grace. I give it…"

"I know. I made it."

"… A seven out of ten! In truth, it actually is—"

"Save your breath." Vakama sighed. He pocketed the figurine, and continued on his way, slowly repeating something to himself. "Nokama, you see, I have known you for quite some time. And have grown to respect… wait, how did that go again?" Vakama looked at his forearm, and saw, to his dismay, that the ink had somehow run. There went his short speech—gone due to sweat incurred by the heat. Well, he hoped it was the heat from the furnaces that incurred the sweat. Because otherwise, it meant that he was pretty darn nervous!

And Vakama's nerves were about to be severely tested, because here came Nokama now! He forced a grin on his face, as he reached out… and patted the other Toa on the shoulder. "How are you doing?"

Nokama smiled, and replied. "Oh, I'm fine, Vakama."

"Glad to hear it. Now—"

"Matau just proposed to me!" Nokama cut him off. Apparently, she had tried to find Vakama to tell him this piece of news.

This caught Vakama by surprise. "What? When?"

"When you were slaving away in that forge of yours all of last week, Vakama."

Oh right. He was slaving away in that forge for all that time in his attempt to craft something beyond just a regular mask! A Kanohi would have taken a day at the worst. This was new. Weakly, Vakama continued. "I mean, well, I'm just wondering, when did you, you know, start seeing each other?"

"A few months ago. Why? Is something wrong?" Nokama asked. This wasn't how she pictured this event.

Well, last month, Vakama had apparently apprenticed himself to one of the matoran, trying to learn the refined art of figurine crafting, somewhat failing... miserably. And, during that time, Matau, that asinine, immature Toa of Air, had made a move. Of course, Vakama didn't say that. He only managed a weak grin. "No, nothing's wrong… that's just perfect! I hope you two will be happy together." With that he turned around, and walked away, back to the forge. Hey, he could get started on helping the other matoran, maybe teach them a few things… The moment he turned the corner, his shoulders slumped, his pace grew lethargic, and he looked for the nearest disposal bin. He took out the messed up figurine and threw it in the bin, not looking back.

The Rau on the sculpture seemed to lose its luster in the darkness.

This day was one lousy one. And it was about to get worse.

* * *

The Toa assassin and his motley band of less-than-willing mercenaries arrived on Metru Nui. For this purpose, they had chosen a small boat, barely able to hold them, and moored it in one of the older ports of the Great City. "Last stop, Metru Nui. Enjoy the view. You won't be seeing much of it."

And the others did appreciate the view. Garthan, who had lived half of his life on Zakaz, found this to be an awe-inspiring sight. It was a tribute to Duty, as the matoran had tirelessly toiled to make this city great. The biggest structure that he had actually seen was a pile of dirt that the Zakazians of his clan called 'the meeting mound.'

Teriaka, who had lived in Xia, was usually of the opinion that the bigger a city was, the dirtier it was. This Great City was easily much bigger than her home district, and it was… so clean. It was a tribute to Unity, for the matoran understood the importance of the atmosphere, and dutifully labored to keep the city clean.

The Zyglak, Canderak, raised an eyebrow. Having lived all of his life in exile, he often had to starve, kill, or lie to live. Here, these things were not necessary. This was Destiny in action. The matoran were destined to live their lives in happiness, and so they should.

Danekar grunted. "Nice sight, isn't it? Let's go. Zack, can you smell him?"

It took Canderak a few moments to respond, when he realized that the comment was directed to him. He sniffed the air. "I can gedda scent on… six Toa. The rest are just rahi an' matoran, along wi' one Turaga."

"Great. Where?"

"There are two close. One smells of ash, the other smells of… water? I can smell… molten metal as well." The Zyglak replied, his nose twitching furiously. Toa had a certain distinct smell that separated them from others. Namely, the smell of nobility… and assumedly their respective element.

"Ta-Metru, then." Danekar pointed at Garthan. "We'll need a lure. Think you can rig a small forge to explode?"

Garthan grinned wickedly, as he hefted a small pack. "Done."

"Perfect. Vicky, can you place this package near one of the smaller, empty forges?" Danekar asked.

The Vortixx didn't respond. She was going to wait until he got her name right!

"Vicky? Hello? I'm talking to you, Vortixx!" Danekar continued. He didn't like it when they held him up.

"What was that, Tom?" Teriaka asked mockingly. "You want my help?"

"My name is not Tom. You can call me Sir. Get to it, Vicky." This was beginning to grow annoying.

"Then say my name."

"Why should I, then? The sooner you get this thing done, the sooner you get to leave." Danekar strode towards the Vortixx, glaring at her.

He had a point. A pretty good one. "Fine, I will," Teriaka relented. She took the package, and walked away, seemingly disappearing in the shadows. She _was_ good at this stuff.

The Vortixx was highly skilled in the art of hiding. Her natural dark coloring helped her to blend in the shadows, and she moved quietly. The problem was that even if she floated like a butterfly, she stung like one, too. She looked in the first forge she found, and saw that it was empty. Good enough. She threw the package in the forge, remembered its location, and scurried away. Now, under an hour, and she'd get paid, and never have to see the Toa again.

And the package began the countdown.

_ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktock…_

_ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktock…_

_ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktock…_

_ticktockticktockticktockticktockticktockticktock…_


End file.
